


Oils well that ends well

by Lilibet



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: First Kiss, Getting Together, Happy Ending, M/M, Qui-Gon is a hot mf, Smut, and Obi-Wan desperately wants to climb him like a tree, oil wrestling, these boys are idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 11:26:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25848775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilibet/pseuds/Lilibet
Summary: If someone had told Obi-Wan this morning that he was going to be watching his master slathered in oil, wearing only a pair of leather pants and wrestling an equally dressed and oiled up opponent, he would’ve laughed in their face it was so absurd.Yet here he was.
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 16
Kudos: 137





	Oils well that ends well

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by chat about Turkish oil wrestling in the Quiobi discord. All the thanks to [kyber_erso](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyber_erso/pseuds/kyber-erso) for her wonderful help!

If someone had told Obi-Wan this morning that he was going to be watching his master slathered in oil, wearing only a pair of leather pants and wrestling an equally dressed and oiled up opponent, he would’ve laughed in their face it was so absurd.

Yet here he was.

He’d lost count the number of times he’d closed his eyes and opened them again, expecting the image in front of him to just fizzle out of existence like it was a figment of his imagination.

The mission to Maar had been thrown to them by the council after the conclusion of their previous mission; a boring and tiresome negotiation which Obi-Wan was glad to see the back of. They’d been on the return transport to Coruscant when the brief had come through. They were the closest Jedi and were ordered to take a short detour. The brief had been short and upon hindsight, had lacked important details that Obi-Wan thought would’ve been helpful to know.

Such as how Qui-Gon would be required to participate in an oil wrestling match to prove his worth and gain a seat at the negotiating table. Obi-Wan thought that, maybe, potentially, that would’ve been helpful to know about beforehand.

And he definitely would’ve appreciated a little warning because he was not at all prepared for the tantalising sight of his Master half naked with oil glistening off of his muscles in the midday sun.

Half of him was seriously considering fleeing back to the ship and desperately pretending he’d never seen his Master look so tempting, while the other decidedly less Jedi-like half was greedily ogling the sight, knowing he’d likely never get a chance to see anything like this again.

Fidgeting for the umpteenth time in the spectator box he’d been invited to, Obi-Wan tried to will away the flush he could feel rising in his cheeks as Qui-Gon was being oiled up down on the field below. He’d plaited his hair down his back out of the way and was stood with his head tilted up towards the sun, eyes closed and a serene expression on his face while he basked in its warmth.

Once the match assistant had finished oiling Qui-Gon’s back and shoulders, they moved to trail their hands down his arms, massaging the muscles to work the oil into the skin, and Obi-Wan swallowed hard when they moved to focus on Qui-Gon’s hands, working the oil in between his fingers one by one.

Obi-Wan tore his eyes away and jolted when he found Qui-Gon staring at him, an inscrutable expression on his face, and he immediately cast his eyes downwards and tugged on the end of his braid in a nervous habit he’d never quite managed to rid himself of.

This was ridiculous. It was bad enough that he harboured these feelings for his Master despite desperately trying to release them to the force, but it was another thing entirely to accidentally let Qui-Gon know his secret just because he couldn’t remain in control of himself. He was a senior padawan, close to his trials and yet he couldn’t stop himself from blushing and fidgeting like a simpering schoolgirl because his Master was practically naked and covered in oil?

Well, on second thought that was actually quite a tall order, which made him feel slightly better about his only reaction so far being his uncontrollable blushing.

He took a deep breath and held it for a moment before blowing it out in a large gust. Peeking over at Qui-Gon, he was relieved to find his Master wasn’t looking at him anymore, although Obi-Wan could swear he saw a small smile playing at the corner of Qui-Gon’s lips. He frowned and huffed out a breath, refraining from crossing his arms and scowling petulantly like a child.

“Master Jedi, please come sit!”

Obi-Wan whirled around and plastered a polite smile on his face, “Ah, Official Deju. Thank you,” he said.

Deju smiled at him, “Please, just Deju is fine,” he gestured to the chair next to him. “Tell me, what do you think of the matches so far?”

Obi-Wan took the time it took him to move across the box and sit down to clear his mind and gather his thoughts. “They’re unique. I’ve never seen anything quite like them before.”

Deju laughed, leaning back in his chair, “Truly? One would think a Jedi has seen a multitude of things. I can hardly imagine that something so simple as oil wrestling hasn’t come across your path.”

At this point he didn’t know whether he was glad or disappointed that they hadn’t seen oil wrestling before. At least then he’d know what to expect. He gave a tight smile, “I am only a Padawan, Offic- Deju. I’m sure there are many things I have yet to see in my service to the Republic,” he snuck a glance over at Qui-Gon on the field below. “Although I suppose there is a first time for everything.”

Deju followed his gaze to Qui-Gon and shot a terrifyingly knowing grin back at Obi-Wan, “Ah yes, your Master. A fine specimen, is he not?”

Obi-Wan choked on air, “Well, I –, he –,” he cursed his inability to control his own body, cheeks heating, and his fingers twitched in an aborted movement to fiddle with the end of his braid. He cleared his throat, “We are Jedi. We all must keep our body in prime physical condition.”

Deju slanted a look at him, slowing raking his eyes up Obi-Wan’s body. “Indeed. It is a shame only your master will be partaking in the matches.”

Relief flooded him when a horn sounded, indicating the start of the first match, and cutting off his reply. He took another deep breath and turned to face the field, immediately spying Qui-Gon standing to the side, straight-backed and proud, watching as the participants of the previous match departed the arena.

Qui-Gon nodded to an official off to the side and strode across the grass to the simple fenced off area where the matches were held, looking sure-footed and completely at ease, as if this was just a regular occurrence.

While he didn’t want to admit it, Obi-Wan was eager to see how his Master would fare. He was a gifted Jedi and a seasoned fighter, of that Obi-Wan knew very well, their sparring sessions often fast and brutal. But while Obi-Wan knew his Master’s saber style nearly as well as his own, skilfully anticipating his attacks almost before he made them, he wasn’t as familiar with how he fought hand to hand. He had seen Qui-Gon in hand to hand combat before, of course, on the rare occasions when a mission called for it. But there was a big difference between a bare-knuckle fight in a rain-soaked alley of a backwater planet, and an organised wrestling match.

A horn sounded again, pulling Obi-Wan out of his thoughts and he watched as Qui-Gon and his opponent bowed to each other and rested their foreheads together, reaching up to grasp each other’s shoulders. A moment later, the match began. They started grappling with each other, hands slipping down over skin to grasp at their leather pants.

Obi-Wan watched as Qui-Gon’s opponent slipped his hand straight into the front of Qui-Gon’s pants, but Qui-Gon smoothly twisted out of the grip, wrapping his arms around the other man’s waist and pulling him to floor before rolling him onto his front. The opponent raised himself up onto his knees, but Qui-Gon pushed his head down firmly into the grass, his other hand slipping down the back of the man’s pants. Obi-Wan swallowed and fidgeted in his seat, a low heat blooming in his gut at Qui-Gon’s show of dominance.

The match continued like this for some time, and each time Qui-Gon gained the upper hand Obi-Wan had to remind himself to breathe, watching as the two men glided over each other, practically fondling the other in the middle of a field. He crossed his legs. Was it just him, or was it getting hotter in here? He surreptitiously wafted his robes, trying in vain to cool himself down.

After nearly half an hour, in which Obi-Wan had become increasingly more aroused despite his best attempts at suppressing the reaction, Qui-Gon’s opponent was on all fours when suddenly Qui-Gon gripped the waistband and the bottom of the leg of his opponents pants at the knee and hauled him bodily off the ground with a loud grunt that echoed up to Obi-Wan. Who was trying his damndest to stop from imagining how easy it would be for Qui-Gon to manhandle him.

Qui-Gon dropped his opponent onto his back and immediately laid on him with his chest across his hips to hold him down, his left arm slipping down the back of his pants and his right arm wrapping round one of the man’s legs and rolling until his full bodyweight was pressing him down into the grass.

The man struggled, but a few moments later a horn sounded, signalling the end of the match, and Qui-Gon’s victory. Obi-Wan let out the breath he’d been holding, far more affected by his master’s show of brute strength than he had any right to be.

Qui-Gon stood, graciously holding his hand out to help his opponent to his feet. But instead of letting go, the other man knelt on one knee and kissed the back of Qui-Gon’s hand for a long moment. The rules stated that only if a younger man defeated an older one, was he required to kiss his hand. Obi-Wan clenched his fists and felt his expression morph into a scowl, his earlier arousal turning sour in his stomach as he watched the other man stand and pull Qui-Gon closer to murmur something in his ear.

Obi-Wan looked down at his hands in his lap and slowly unclenched them. He had no right to feel this way. Qui-Gon wasn’t his. He never would be. They were both Jedi, anything more than friendship between them wasn’t possible, even if Qui-Gon actually returned his feelings. Which Obi-Wan was sure he didn’t, he was his Padawan after all. If anything, he probably still saw him as that 13-year old he’d taken as his apprentice all those years ago, not the 23-year old man he was now.

A round of applause started up around Obi-Wan, and he jumped, quickly following suit as Official Deju and the rest of the spectators around him congratulated Qui-Gon on his victory.

“Congratulations Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn!” he bellowed, spreading his arms wide. “Your victory in our sacred oil wrestling rite has granted you the right to a seat at the negotiations.”

“Thank you for the honour Official Deju,” Qui-Gon replied, bowing deeply.

Deju nodded at Qui-Gon and turned to Obi-Wan, “My assistant will show you and your Master to your accommodations for the duration of the negotiations. They begin tomorrow at first light,” his genial smile morphed into a salacious grin, “Make sure you get at least _some_ rest.”

Deju turned on his heel and left the spectator box, leaving Obi-Wan spluttering behind him.

\--

Obi-Wan reached their rooms before Qui-Gon, who was no doubt being congratulated on his victory by various officials and stared in dismay at the only double bed in the room. This was no doubt Deju’s doing and Obi-Wan was overcome by the sudden urge to throttle the meddling Official.

By the time Qui-Gon materialised, Obi-Wan had unmade and remade the bed, rearranged the bottles in the bathroom cabinet alphabetically and then by colour, polished his boots until he could practically use them as a mirror, and failed to meditate no less than three times. He couldn’t expel this restless energy that had filled him, and even now his leg was shaking up and down in the chair that he was sat in on the small balcony attached to their room.

Qui-Gon walked in, and Obi-Wan cursed every deity he knew that Qui-Gon was still oiled up, although it looked like he’d at least tried to remove some of it.

Spying Obi-Wan through the open glass door, Qui-Gon started to walk to him when his bare feet suddenly slid out from under him.

“Master!” Obi-Wan leaped up, rushing over to help as Qui-Gon caught himself on the corner of the bed. He grasped Qui-Gon’s arm, studiously ignoring how firm the muscles were and how his hand kept sliding up towards his shoulder as he guided Qui-Gon to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Thank you, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon chuckled, “My saviour from clumsy feet.”

“I think it’s more oily feet and slippery tiles this time master,” Obi-Wan replied dryly, “Although your coordination certainly leaves much to be desired at the best of times.”

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow and Obi-Wan grinned at him, “Cheeky imp,” he said, brushing the side of a finger across Obi-Wan’s cheek in an affectionate reprimand. “For that, you get to help your old master into the bath.”

“You’re hardly old master,” Obi-Wan scoffed, “Yoda definitely has you beat, but I know he can still do aerial somersaults, so you don’t have an excuse.”

Qui-Gon just laughed, a low rumble in his chest that made Obi-Wan’s stomach flip. He pulled Qui-Gon’s arm over his shoulders and wrapped his other arm round his waist, ignoring Qui-Gon’s protest about getting oil on his robes, and carefully walked them both into the bathroom.

He left Qui-Gon to clean himself up, but after five minutes of hearing muffled swearing through the wall, Qui-Gon emerged from the bathroom. Obi-Wan suppressed a grin at the petulant scowl on his face and the red blush of exertion on his cheeks.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to help me with my pants, Obi-Wan,”

Obi-Wan’s mirth immediately left him. He was cursed. Or this mission was cursed. Or at least something was conspiring against him, he could swear it. He looked at Qui-Gon, who looked a bit like a sad cat in the rain, before pulling himself together.

“They’re...stuck?”

“Yes, and I can’t get a good grip on them,” he lifted his hands to indicate the oil still on them.

Obi-Wan huffed a quiet self-deprecating laugh and following Qui-Gon into the bathroom, resolutely not thinking about how he was about to undress his master.

“I think the best way might be for you to kneel on the floor and try to pull them off that way,” Qui-Gon said, and Obi-Wan looked to the ceiling for strength.

He knelt behind Qui-Gon and slipped his hands into the waistband at the back, while Qui-Gon gripped the front, and together they started trying to tug them down. But Qui-Gon was right, they were well and truly stuck. The oil on them had almost made a suction against Qui-Gon’s skin, making it difficult to move them without breaking the seal beforehand.

After a few minutes of struggling they’d only managed to work the waistband down a few centimetres, and Obi-Wan was eternally grateful that he was behind Qui-Gon, he didn’t think he’d be able to cope kneeling in front of him practically eye level with his dick as it was slowly exposed in what had to be the world’s longest strip tease. At least behind him Qui-Gon couldn’t see the furious blush on Obi-Wan’s cheeks as more of his ass was exposed.

Long minutes of grunting and writhing passed, but together they managed to work the pants halfway down Qui-Gon’s thighs until finally the seal between them and his skin broke and they dropped to the floor with a wet slap.

Obi-Wan heaved a silent sigh of relief and quickly stood up, abruptly turning around when Qui-Gon went to face him, only to curse internally when a giant floor length mirror greeted him. His gaze automatically trailed down the parts of Qui-Gon’s body he could see, until he realised what he was doing and snapped his eyes back up only to lock his gaze with Qui-Gon’s in the mirror. His master’s eyes were full of mirth and a small smirk was playing on his lips.

Obi-Wan saw himself go bright red, and coughed awkwardly, “I’ll uh – leave you to it then, master,” he said, hastily heading for the door.

“Do you not wish to wash your hands?” Qui-Gon asked, his voice far too innocent for the devilish grin still on his face.

“I – uh,” Obi-Wan stammered, quickly moving to rinse his hands in the sink and drying them on the hand towel. But before he could move away, he felt Qui-Gon step behind him and brace his hands on the sink either side of Obi-Wan, trapping him against the porcelain.

Obi-Wan swallowed hard, eyes fixed on the faucet, unsure what exactly was happening, “Master?”

Qui-Gon lowered his lips to his ear, “I saw the way you looked at me, Obi-Wan,” he murmured, “When I was preparing for the match.”

Obi-Wan’s breath quickened and a jolt of heat pierced his stomach, “I – I don’t know wha-,”

Qui-Gon shushed him gently and ran the tip of his nose along the shell of Obi-Wan’s ear. He shivered, his whole body tingling with heat from Qui-Gon’s voice alone.

“I’ve seen you look at me like that before. Many times, and always when you think I’m not looking,” Qui-Gon brushed his lips over the tip of his ear, “But I’m always looking at you, Obi-Wan. Even in a sea of people, my eyes always find you.”

Obi-Wan looked up sharply, catching Qui-Gon’s eyes in the cabinet mirror. They were almost luminous in their intensity, gazing into Obi-Wan’s eyes as if he was staring into his soul. Obi-Wan licked his lips but didn’t speak.

“I’m inexorably drawn to you, like iron to a magnet.”

Obi-Wan’s mouth felt so dry it was like he’d swallowed a mouthful of sand, his voice rasping out of his throat, “But...your opponent-“

“Is not you,” Qui-Gon said, reaching up to smooth an oily hand down the side of Obi-Wan’s neck.

“What is this?” Obi-Wan whispered, enraptured by the image of Qui-Gon in the mirror, so different from how his master usually was it was like he was a different person. Obi-Wan’s stomach turned uncomfortably at the thought.

“Me doing what I have longed to do, before Deju takes away my chance,” Qui-Gon leaned down and planted soft, barely-there kisses on his neck, his lips so soft they tickled. Obi-Wan gasped and arched slightly against the sink, forcefully supressing a jolt when he felt what he was sure was Qui-Gon’s half hard cock against his clothed backside. Qui-Gon’s words registered a second later, and Obi-Wan felt like he’d been doused with a bucket of ice-cold water.

“Deju?”

Qui-Gon hummed and continued kissing down Obi-Wan’s neck, “You can’t have failed to notice his attraction to you, Obi-Wan.”

He hadn’t. It was quite obvious that Deju was attracted to him, but that didn’t mean Obi-Wan was going to sleep with the man like Qui-Gon apparently thought he would. Then, clarity struck like a lightning bolt and he realised what this was. This wasn’t Qui-Gon finally giving in to long repressed feelings he harboured for Obi-Wan like he had foolishly fantasised about in the small hours of the night. This was Qui-Gon staking a claim.

Obi-Wan breathed in sharply as the realisation tumbled through his mind. Qui-Gon’s presence grew suffocating, his arms either side of Obi-Wan feeling like the iron bars of a cage instead of the comforting embrace they usually were.

Obi-Wan felt like he could cry. Just when he’d thought he might be able to have his master the way he’d craved for so long, that Qui-Gon might actually return Obi-Wan’s feelings, it was ripped away from him.

He was tempted to let Qui-Gon carry on, give in and have a torrid night of passion together because that would be the only way he’d be able to have his master like this, but it wouldn’t be the same. He wouldn’t be able to go back to how it was before and pretend like nothing had happened between them, not once he knew what Qui-Gon tasted like, what he looked like in the throes of passion, what he sounded like when he came.

No. It would be kinder on both of them to stop it before it began.

“Stop,” Obi-Wan said weakly, “Stop.”

Qui-Gon immediately stepped back and Obi-Wan felt like he could breathe again, sagging against the sink and resting his forehead against the cool glass of the cabinet. When he straightened and opened his eyes, Qui-Gon’s expression reflected in the mirror was full of concern and confusion.

Obi-Wan went to speak, although to say what he didn’t know, but Qui-Gon beat him to it. “Please forgive me Obi-Wan, I thought –,” he ruefully shook his head and looked down at the floor, “It seems I’ve made a grave misjudgement. Please accept my apology, I have no wish to take advantage of you.” When he looked back up at Obi-Wan he had an apologetic smile on his lips, but his eyes were...sad. Obi-Wan had no idea what that meant.

He didn’t trust himself to speak without his voice breaking, so he just smiled what he hoped was his most reassuring smile, nodded, and left the bathroom. The soft click of the door closing behind him was like the latch on his emotions breaking, and suddenly tears were rolling down his cheeks and his breath was hitching in his chest.

He sat down heavily on the bed and buried his face in his hands, simultaneously feeling sorry for himself and telling himself off for losing control so easily. Checking his shields, he bolstered them until they were as strong as durasteel, and then let it all out.

\--

After half an hour, Qui-Gon still hadn’t emerged from the bathroom. It was getting late, the sun having dipped below the horizon long ago with splashes of violet, orange, and turquoise streaking across the sky. Exhausted from his outburst, and the interrupted sleep on the transport to this planet, Obi-Wan changed into his nightclothes and climbed into the bed. He turned to face the wall, edging as close to the edge of the bed as he dared without falling off.

When Qui-Gon finally emerged, he pretended to be asleep as he heard him putter about the room, changing into his nightclothes and rifling through his bag, before putting something away. Silence fell and the hair on the back of Obi-Wan’s neck rose in anticipation while he fought to regulate his breathing to imitate sleep. No doubt Qui-Gon knew he was awake, but it was easier to pretend.

Qui-Gon sighed, and a moment later Obi-Wan felt the bed dip as Qui-Gon climbed in beside him and turned out the light. Once he settled, the room became silent but for their breathing, and Obi-Wan felt the tension in the air pull tight. His muscles felt as tense as a durasteel bar as he waited for...something.

But nothing happened. And after long moments that stretched on for eternity, Obi-Wan felt the bed jostle as Qui-Gon turned over, his breath gradually slowing into the rhythm of sleep. Obi-Wan cursed his master’s ability to fall asleep practically anywhere in a matter of minutes, and he had to suppress a laugh at the memory of Qui-Gon falling asleep standing up at a particularly dull political function a couple of years ago.

Obi-Wan had found it hilarious and waited to see how long his master could stay like that. Apparently, the answer was the better part of an hour. He’d thought Qui-Gon would be angry with him for not waking him, but he’d just laughed at Obi-Wan and ruffled his hair, an amused chuckle escaping him at his indignant squawk that he wasn’t a child.

The memory filled Obi-Wan’s chest with warmth, and the image of Qui-Gon’s indulgent expression came to mind. It was one of Obi-Wan’s favourite expressions on his master, full of warm mirth and mischievous smiles, and one which he’d filed away and guarded closely despite the fact that he knew Jedi shouldn’t covet these kinds of things. But looking back on it now, Obi-Wan could see a wistfulness carefully hidden behind the layers of laughter in Qui-Gon’s eyes. Not unlike the melancholy that had been shining in them earlier, as though Qui-Gon had been feeling so much he couldn’t hide it.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes and frowned at the wall. Now he thought about it, all of his favourite Qui-Gon expressions were usually the result of him doing something particularly stupid, and each one had an air of wistfulness that Obi-Wan hadn’t noticed before. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, the feeling that he was missing something sitting in his gut like a heavy stone.

He spent the rest of the night tossing and turning in between brief bouts of fitful sleep, his mind turning over everything he thought he knew about his apprenticeship with Qui-Gon; how it had subtly begun to change when Obi-Wan had become of age, how Qui-Gon had started looking at him differently, softer, as Obi-Wan grew into himself and his duty as a Jedi, and he cursed himself for being so caught up in his own crisis that he hadn’t even noticed the one that had been happening right in front of him.

With a punch to the gut, he realised that Qui-Gon hadn’t been staking a claim at all. He’d plucked up the courage to bare his heart to Obi-Wan, helped along by Obi-Wan’s own appreciative glances and, apparently, the threat of Deju, and Obi-Wan had rewarded him by assuming the worse of his master and soundly rejecting him.

He groaned internally, wanting to punch himself for being so stupid. Force, he hoped he hadn’t fucked this up. There had to be a way for him to apologise so that Qui-Gon actually believed him.

He tentatively glanced over at his master and drank in the sight of his profile, relaxed in sleep. A pale strip of moonlight was slanted across his face, and Obi-Wan could see the remnants of oil still shining on his skin and into his hair, and an idea suddenly struck him.

He had to try.

\--

Not long before sunrise, Obi-Wan carefully exited the bed and tiptoed to the bathroom. He started to run a bath and added some of the essential oils provided, breathing in the scents of eucalyptus and lavender as he collected everything else he’d need and set them by the side of the porcelain bathtub sat alone in the middle of the room.

Taking another deep breath, he steeled himself and went to wake Qui-Gon. He found him already up, outside on the balcony with his hands resting on the railing, just standing there and breathing the fresh morning air.

“Master?”

A beat. “Good morning, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan flinched at the forced politeness of Qui-Gon’s tone and pushed on. “Did you sleep well?”

Qui-Gon half-turned, a small smile on his face, “Quite, thank you. Although I fear the sheets are ruined from the oil still in my hair.”

“Would you like me to wash it for you?” he asked carefully, and Qui-Gon stiffened minutely before slowly turning to face Obi-Wan fully. He gave him a scrutinising look for a long moment, and Obi-Wan could see the cogs turning in his head, before he tentatively nodded.

Qui-Gon followed him into the bathroom and pulled up short. “You prepared a bath?” he asked, “for me?”

Obi-Wan nodded, waiting for the penny to drop. Qui-Gon’s gaze flickered between the bath, Obi-Wan, and the supplies on the floor. When he looked to Obi-Wan again, his mouth dropped open and his eyes filled with such an intense hopefulness it made Obi-Wan’s heart clench painfully in his chest.

Obi-Wan nodded and tentatively smiled, gesturing for Qui-Gon to climb into the tub. Qui-Gon didn’t move for a moment, simply staring at Obi-Wan, before he swallowed hard and started to pull off his nightclothes.

Once in the steaming water, Obi-Wan guided Qui-Gon to lay back, gathering and lifting his hair out of the way so his neck was resting on the built-in pillow on the rim of the tub. He pulled the small stool he’d found earlier over and sat down, picking up the sandalwood comb and beginning to pull it through Qui-Gon’s hair.

Years ago, in the middle of the night in a desolate wasteland under the stars, Qui-Gon had told Obi-Wan of a special tradition on his homeworld. For a courtship to begin, the recipient of the proposition would accept the offer of courtship by performing a cleansing ritual on the courter. He’d told him it began with the hair, and so that’s where Obi-Wan started.

He poured a jug of water over Qui-Gon’s hair, a bucket underneath it so it didn’t wet the floor, before lathering a citrusy smelling soap in his hands and beginning to massage it into the strands and scraping his nails over his scalp. He grinned when Qui-Gon let out a quiet moan, ignoring the swoop in his belly at the sound. Once he’d finished, he rinsed the soap out and repeated, making sure he worked out as much of the stubborn oil as he could.

After that, he coated the strands in a thick and creamy conditioner, using the comb to work it in, and rinsed again. Obi-Wan sneaked a peek at Qui-Gon over the top of his head, finding him with his eyes closed and a blissful expression on his face. Next, he picked up a cedarwood essential oil, the earthy smell reminding so much of Qui-Gon, who was so stalwart and resilient in the face of adversity, but also as stubborn as a bantha that Obi-Wan often found himself wanting to throttle him at least daily.

He massaged the oil into the tips of Qui-Gon’s hair and gave it a last run through with the comb. When he came to a still, Obi-Wan noticed that the tension of last night had dissipated, a comfortable silence enveloping them like the steam from the bath.

On a whim, Obi-Wan leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on Qui-Gon’s hair line. There were more... _carnal_ additions to the cleansing ritual that Obi-Wan desperately wanted to share with Qui-Gon, but he needed to make sure that Qui-Gon knew what Obi-Wan had been trying to say with his actions.

Qui-Gon reached up to wrap the fingers of one hand around Obi-Wan’s wrist and brought it to his lips, kissing the delicate skin on the inside of his wrist. Obi-Wan shivered and the small noise that escaped his throat at the affectionate action morphed into a moan when Qui-Gon pressed his lips to his palm and moved up to press soft kisses to the tips of his fingers.

Obi-Wan let out a shaky breath, “Qui-Gon...”

Qui-Gon pulled his arm, encouraging him to move round from behind his head to face him, and Obi-Wan followed as easily as he followed Qui-Gon in everything else. The expression on his face was a mix of longing and hopefulness, overlaid with such naked desire that it took Obi-Wan’s breath away. It made him seriously question his powers of observation, because how in all hell could he have not noticed the sheer depth of feeling Qui-Gon had for him when it was shining out of his eyes so intensely?

Uncontrollable laughter suddenly bubbled up Obi-Wan’s throat and Qui-Gon arched an eyebrow at him, which only made him laugh harder. He wrapped the arm not still held in Qui-Gon’s grip around his middle and rested his forehead on the rim of the bath in an attempt to calm himself down. He didn’t want Qui-Gon to think he was laughing at him, but rather at this whole ridiculous situation that could’ve been avoided if they’d both just used their _words_.

But alas, that was not a particular strong suit of theirs.

When his laughter had faded, he sneaked a look at Qui-Gon and found him gazing at him with an indulgent smile on his lips. Then he leaned forward and snaked a wet hand around the back of Obi-Wan’s neck and brought their foreheads together. They stayed like that for several long moments, just breathing together and basking in each other’s presence.

They were so close, Qui-Gon’s lips a mere hairsbreadth away, and Obi-Wan desperately wanted to close the distance between them.

“May I kiss you, Obi-Wan?” Qui-Gon murmured. His voice was exquisitely soft, barely more than a breath, but the bloom of desire that burned in Obi-Wan’s stomach made him breathless, and before he could say or even think anything, he was kissing him.

Qui-Gon’s lips parted easily beneath his, and a sound left his throat: a gorgeous sound of pleasure between a whimper and a moan that made him feel lightheaded. He reached up to tangle his fingers in Qui-Gon’s hair, not giving a sith’s ass about messing up his work, and when Qui-Gon made that sound again, Obi-Wan went to pull back from the kiss breathlessly.

But Qui-Gon’s hand tightened on his neck and he slanted his mouth more firmly against Obi-Wan’s.

The sheer intensity of the kiss was blinding. It was deep, slow, and so devastatingly thorough Obi-Wan had no idea how he was going to be able to go about his days normally ever again. Qui-Gon’s lips moved firmly over his, coaxing his mouth open as if to taste every part of him, nipping at his lips just to hear him gasp, slowly tracing his fingers on his neck, and Obi-Wan shamelessly melted into all of it.

Slowly, the heat in the room began to build, and not from the hot bathwater, and their kisses grew more desperate, small impatient noises escaping them as they delved deeper into each other. Qui-Gon pushed at Obi-Wan’s nightclothes, growling in frustration when they wouldn’t move.

“Take these off,” he rasped. His voice was strained with lust, and Obi-Wan’s heart pounded in his chest at the sound. “Get in here.”

Obi-Wan stood and hastily pulled his clothes off, pausing with one leg over the side of the bath. There wasn’t really that much room, what with Qui-Gon’s obnoxiously long figure and a bath that was clearly meant for a normal sized human being. But Qui-Gon evidently didn’t care, tugging at Obi-Wan’s arm so eagerly that he lost his footing and toppled over right onto Qui-Gon’s chest. The sound of the water sloshing over the side was lost in the laughter that filled the room.

“Master! Did I hurt-“

“Not at all, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon laughed, “In fact, I’d say you’re right where I want you.”

His voice rumbled pleasantly in his chest, and Obi-Wan felt himself start to blush. And when Qui-Gon tilted his hips to emphasise his point, Obi-Wan’s blush deepened even more at the very obviously hard dick rubbing against his bare hip.

Qui-Gon wrapped his arms around Obi-Wan and chuckled at him when he buried his face against his master’s neck. A moment later he felt Qui-Gon’s fingers on his jaw, a gentle pressure encouraging him to face Qui-Gon.

“Thank you, Obi-Wan,” he murmured, his face serious but warm.

Obi-Wan frowned. “What for?”

“For showing your old master why he shouldn’t give up so easily on what he loves,”

Obi-Wan stared dumbly at Qui-Gon for a moment, before reaching up to kiss him hard and desperate, relaxing his shields to let him know exactly how he felt for his stubborn master.

Qui-Gon gasped and pulled Obi-Wan closer, the movement rubbing them together under the water and making them groan. Qui-Gon relaxed his own shields and the wave of affection and lust that hit Obi-Wan made him simultaneously feel like he was about to faint and like he wanted to punch himself in the face for not pulling his head out of his ass sooner.

Obi-Wan shifted to slip a leg in between Qui-Gon’s and they started rocking against each other, panting as the pleasure started cycling back and forth across the now open bond, amplifying each sensation higher and higher until they felt mad with it.

Their kisses became frantic, both of them breathing hard between kisses, and Qui-Gon’s hands were smoothly stroking down Obi-Wan’s back one second and then gripping his ass the next, guiding his hips into a delicious rhythm. It felt incredible, and Obi-Wan tried to gather his wits but the bliss clouding his brain made it impossible to think.

All he had the wherewithal to do was cup Qui-Gon’s jaw in his palm and plant sloppy kisses down his neck, gently nipping and sucking at the skin and grinning at the desperate groans and erratic thrusts it elicited. On a particularly delicious thrust, Obi-Wan pulled back to gasp a breath, and the play of emotions across Qui-Gon’s face was exquisite, his eyes clenched shut and his handsome features twisted in an expression of euphoria.

The knot of pleasure in Obi-Wan’s gut began to tighten, and he could feel across their bond that Qui-Gon was close as well. Their thrusts became jerky and a few hard thrusts from Qui-Gon triggered their rising orgasms, a deep throb of pleasure spreading through Obi-Wan’s limbs, magnified by the feeling of Qui-Gon’s pleasure across the bond, and they both let out guttural cries as ecstasy washed over them.

Obi-Wan basked in the aftershocks of his orgasm, releasing a contented half-sigh, half moan as he relaxed against Qui-Gon’s chest. Qui-Gon carded his fingers through Obi-Wan’s hair, scratching his nails across his scalp and Obi-Wan would deny to his dying day that he purred at the attention.

An undetermined amount of time later, Obi-Wan was pulled from his warm and comfortable doze by a tug on his braid.

“I think it’s probably best if we actually attended the negotiations, don’t you think? Qui-Gon teased.

Obi-Wan’s eyes shot open and he bolted upright, not caring about the bathwater sloshing onto the floor, “Shit!”

Qui-Gon just laughed and climbed out of the water after Obi-Wan had scrambled out, drying off and getting dressed at a far too leisurely pace for Obi-Wan’s liking.

At the door to their room, Qui-Gon caught Obi-Wan’s chin in between his fingers and gave him a slow and deeply passionate kiss that carried on forever and left him feeling dizzy.

“Come on, padawan. We’ve got a long day ahead of us,” Qui-Gon said cheerfully, as if he hadn’t just made every braincell in Obi-Wan’s head spontaneously combust.

Obi-Wan gaped after Qui-Gon, the mischievous glint in his eyes telling Obi-Wan he knew exactly how the kiss had affected him, and shook his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts.

By the time they reached the negotiation chamber, he’d barely managed to rid his mind of the various salacious images of Qui-Gon that he was sure were now cemented in his consciousness.

Deju shot him a knowing wink from across the room and Obi-Wan, with all the dignity of a Jedi that he could muster after practically fucking his master not half an hour ago, refrained from sticking his tongue out at the meddling official.

He’d have to send him a fruit basket in thanks.


End file.
